Human Error
by themightyflea
Summary: A collection of Sherlolly oneshots with no particular sequence. Prompts and suggestions are always welcome. :)
1. The Exception

He's an idiot. Sherlock thought briefly before continuing with his Best Man Speech. An idiot who held a startling resemblance to him, but that was his only redeeming quality as far as Sherlock was concerned. That, and his preference in romantic partners, he added grudgingly.

It was a few hours later, after the speech was done and the initial commotion had died down, that Sherlock had pulled out his phone and texted her. Really, there was nothing for it, Molly could do better than Mr. Tom "Meat Dagger" anyway.

**_You're breaking up with him. Not tonight, though. Do it tomorrow. _**

**_SH_**

_What? Why would you say that?_

_M_

Molly glanced at Sherlock across the room, holding her phone away from Tom's view. He was too engrossed in his conversation with Mrs. Hudson to notice, but Molly had the paranoid feeling that he'd know who she was texting with and what she was texting about anyways. Sherlock raised a brow and shifted his eyes back to his phone.

**_He's an idiot, and he dresses like me. Attempts to, anyway. _**

**_SH_**

_He doesn't dress like you._

_M_

**_But you don't deny he's an idiot._**

**_SH_**

Sherlock looked up at her. She was ignoring him, but the flush on her cheeks had spread down to her neck. He smirked.

**_Molly._**

**_SH_**

**_Don't ignore my texts._**

**_SH_**

**_I'll just go over there and tell you in person._**

**_SH_**

That caught her attention, and her eyes widened in alarm as she scrambled to text him back. Good. He didn't like being ignored any more than he liked not knowing things.

_Don't._

_M_

**_Meet me in front of the coat room._**

**_SH_**

_For what?_

_M_

**_I'm tired of texting when we could just talk. Don't bring Tom._**

**_SH_**

_And what do I tell him?_

_M_

**_Who cares? You're leaving him tomorrow._**

**_SH_**

"Why do you think I'm leaving him?" Molly asked, arms crossed over her chest as she approached Sherlock in front of the coatroom. Sherlock looked her over, noting the details now that she was close enough and unaccompanied. There were the lines of tension, and then the grim set of her lips. So, he'd been right. Obviously. The deduction gave him very little satisfaction, however. He knew what this relationship had meant for Molly.

"Hardly a difficult deduction, and then you stabbed him with a fork." Sherlock smirked, his face softening a bit as he looked at her. It was an instinctive reaction, come about shortly after his fall, and apparently permanent, he noted with annoyance. "Are you alright?"

"No." Molly shook her head, uncrossing her arms and fidgeting with her bow. "Of course not."

"You'll be fine." Sherlock said after a pause, clasping his hands behind his back as he looked at her. He wasn't the sort to comfort other people, anyone could attest to it, but then again Molly wasn't really _people_ was she? "You deserve better, Molly Hooper."

She looked up at him, seemingly surprised by what he'd said. He didn't know why, it was a fact after all. Molly was not an idiot, anybody who knew her for more than a day could confirm it. He certainly wouldn't have trusted her the way he had if he thought she was anything less than brilliant. Not as brilliant as he was, but nobody was perfect.

"I should get back." She said finally, the look of surprise still on her face. Sherlock smiled a closed lip smile and nodded once before she turned and left him standing there. He fixed his suit coat and made his way to the stage.

* * *

Molly sat up in bed and blearily searched her bedside table for her phone. She wasn't drowsy, she was drunk. And angry. Finally spotting her phone, not on the table but on the floor, she glanced over at Tom's sleeping form before she turned on her side and typed out a text.

_You gave her the flower._

_M_

**_Who? What flower?_**

**_SH_**

Sherlock blinked at his screen, wondering vaguely if Molly was still inebriated or if she was fully conscious about texting him. He glanced at the time. Three in the morning, he noted with a frown. She was likely in bed with Tom, too. Definitely inebriated.

_Janine! The flower!_

_M_

**_Oh, right, that. So?_**

**_SH_**

**_Molly?_**

**_SH_**

**_Molly._**

**_SH_**

He frowned, debating wether or not he should tell her. He hadn't planned on telling anybody, not even John. He knew he could trust Molly, especially since she wouldn't be directly involved with the case, but he'd be telling her for strictly sentimental reasons. He grimaced, thumbs hesitating over the screen of his phone. After all she'd done for him, he could make an exception, couldn't he?

**_It's for a case._**

**_SH_**

_Really?_

_M_

_**Yes. Don't tell anyone.** _

_SH_

_Why?_

_M_

**_Obviously nobody's supposed to know._**

**_SH_**

Molly tried to shake away the fuzziness caused by the alcohol. Tom stirred beside her and she froze, briefly looking over her shoulder. His back was to her, and his breathing had resumed its previous rhythm. She turned her attention back to her phone.

_Why are you telling me?_

_M_

**_Go to sleep, Molly._**

**_SH_**

She bit her lip. An unwanted sense of relief filling her up. It wasn't real, it was for a case. She could handle that, and he knew, that's why he'd told her.

_Goodnight. _

_M_

**_Sweet dreams, Molly Hooper._**

**_SH_**

Molly clutched the phone to her chest and curled into the bed, grimacing when Tom threw an arm over her middle and pulled her closer. She'd end it tomorrow, she thought with a sigh and ignored the guilty feeling that settled into the pit of her stomach.

* * *

"I can't believe you got yourself shot." Molly stated, throwing her coat into one of the hospital chairs and walking up close to him. He frowned, studying her features. She was angry, he noticed with surprise. He'd been hurt and she was angry.

"Yes, I'd think that's obvious." He replied simply, keeping his eyes on her.

"If you weren't already stretched on a bed in a hospital I'd slap you." She retorted her voice shaking. Sherlock raised his brows. This was a side of Molly Hooper he hadn't seen yet. She'd slapped him before, yes, but this was something else. _What was it?_

"Do calm down, I'm fine." He said dismissively, a slight edge to his voice, but not as cutting as it would've been had his health been in a better state. "Sit. You look about ready to faint."

Molly tensed, leaning forward as if she was about to rethink what she'd said and slap him, but she managed to control herself. He watched her as she took a deep breath and opened up her purse, pulling out several newspapers and throwing them on his lap.

"And this?" She asked, meeting his eyes and withdrawing from the bed a few steps. "All for the case?"

"Yes." He frowned, picking up one of the newspapers and glancing at the cover. Janine had really gone overboard with the stories, but he couldn't blame her. "I believe I told you that before."

"I didn't know how far you'd take it." Molly replied quietly, picking up her things and getting ready to leave. He narrowed his eyes at her, trying to read the subtext.

"Are you jealous?" Sherlock asked quietly, unable to keep the slight sneer from his voice.

"I have no reason to be." Molly replied shortly. She was ready to go, but she was still in his room. She didn't want to leave, Sherlock realized with a start. Angry as she was, she wanted to stay.

"Quite right." Sherlock bit out. "Especially since I recall you were having _quite a lot of sex_ with Tom not too long ago."

Molly flinched as if he'd hit her and he was immediately consumed with feelings of guilt. She didn't deserve that, and he didn't know what had possessed him to say so in the first place. It had just come out, unbidden, as his mind tried to work through the undercurrent of their conversation.

"I should go." She said finally, biting on her lower lip. She was trying not to cry. He sighed, and fell back against the pillow.

Molly gave him one last look before turning for the door. Now he was the one who didn't want her to leave, and he scrambled to find something that would make her stay.

"I'm sorry, Molly." He called out as she was about to go out the door. "That was uncalled for and out of line. I shouldn't have said it."

She nodded once, but still didn't turn around. He fought through the morphine, searching for something else. He couldn't let her leave.

"Nothing happened with Janine." He said after a pause. "Well, not nothing, obviously, but we didn't have sex."

Molly turned, and Sherlock sighed with relief. The hopeful look on her face giving him a momentary, if slightly unexpected, high.

"Really?"

"Really." Sherlock closed his eyes, breathing in and out as he tried to muddle through the situation. This, all of this, was out of character, even for him, who prided himself in his ability to surprise. "Will you stay?"

"Alright." Molly replied, throwing her things back onto one of the chairs before taking a seat in the other. They didn't say anything else, but when Molly slipped her hand into his after a few minutes, Sherlock gripped it tighter instead of pulling away.

* * *

Sherlock walked up to Molly Hooper's door and knocked. It was late, far too late for any kind of visit, civilized or otherwise, but he was leaving in a few hours and likely never coming back. Mycroft had told him six months, and he was never wrong, Sherlock reminded himself. This was justified because there would be no more of it. There would be no more John. No more Mrs. Hudson. Certainly no more Molly Hooper, and like a junkie he needed one last fix, a strong one, before he could leave it altogether.

Molly opened the door in her house coat, her hair a rumpled mess as it hung around her shoulders. This time, he didn't even try to hold back the surge of feelings she provoked in him. He was past that now. There was no need for it. He wasn't staying.

He strode into her flat, and she stepped back. He stalked her like a predator until he was standing mere inches away from her.

"What are you doing?" Molly widened her eyes. He must be sight to see, judging by the look on her face, but he didn't care. Not now.

"I'm spending the night." He replied simply, sliding his arms around her waist and lifting her up against him. "Problem?" She shook her head and licked her lips.

"What do you need?" She asked, circling her arms around his neck. Her heartbeat and breathing were elevated. Pupils dilated. He smiled.

"You."

* * *

**_I'm coming back._**

**_SH_**

_You were gone for two hours._

_M_

**_Four minutes, to be exact._**

**_SH_**

_What happens now?_

_M_

**_What do you mean? Nothing, I'm back. I'm taking the case._**

**_SH_**

_I meant about last night._

_M_

**_Are you having second thoughts now that I'll be around?_**

**_SH_**

_No! Of course not! I'm just wondering what to make of it._

_M_

**_We had sex, Molly. There's nothing to make of it._**

**_SH_**

**_Molly?_**

**_SH_**

**_That probably came out wrong._**

**_SH_**

**_I'll try again._**

**_SH_**

**_Molly, would you like to have dinner with me?_**

**_SH_**

_Dinner?_

_M_

**_Yes. Dinner. With me. _**

**_SH_**

_Like a date?_

_M_

**_Yes, like a date. Do keep up._**

**_SH_**

**_I realize we're doing this backwards, but under the circumstances I think it's appropriate._**

**_SH_**

_I'd love to._

_M_

**_Good. I also need a severed arm._**

**_SH_**

_I'll get right on that._

_M_


	2. Bolthole I

**11: 05 p.m.**

"I need a place to stay." Sherlock announced the minute Molly shut the door behind him. He removed his coat and threw it on her couch before turning to look at her, an expectant look on his face. "I hope that's alright. We talked about it before, but I thought I should ask anyway in case anything has changed." He paused waiting for her reply. When she just stared at him, he pressed on. "Has anything changed?"

"No, no, it's fine." Molly nodded quickly, pulling her housecoat closed and tying the sash around her waist. "I'll just, um, I'll just show you the guest bedroom it's right through-"

"I'll take your bedroom." Sherlock interrupted, following her with his eyes as she made her way into the hall. She stopped and turned around, fidgeting with her hair. It'd been a long time since the last time he'd seen her. Since the day after he'd jumped off the roof at St. Bart's, actually, and the sight of her familiar face framed by a long mass of sleep rumpled hair made his heart ache. Already a year had gone by, and this woman was a reminder of a life he'd left on indefinite hold.

An _unexpected _reminder, he clarified, as he found himself struggling to keep his emotions under control

"Oh, well it's-" She frowned, her cheeks coloring slightly.

"The state of it doesn't matter, I'm just here for one night." He interrupted before she could explain the mess that likely littered her bedroom.

"Okay." She nodded, changing direction and moving further down the hallway. "It's right through here." She pushed the door open and Sherlock stepped inside, removing his tattered green jacket and placing it on the bed.

"Do you need anything else?" She followed him inside and removed her phone from its charger.

"No." He said after some hesitation. He could probably use a bit of company, but that was more than he would admit to.

They stared at each other. He could feel Molly's eyes on him and he did his best not to turn away. How long had it been since someone had looked at him that way? Well, if he was being honest, no one ever looked at him the way Molly did, but that's not what he'd meant. How long had it been since someone had looked at him with anything other than open hostility? He cleared his throat.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, it's, um," she shook her head, her eyes still on his face but her thoughts seemed to be elsewhere, "it's just that it's been so long."

Sherlock nodded and took the opportunity to commit her face to memory, just as she was at that moment. Her eyes alert, even if her entire body betrayed how tired she was. Her shiny hair tangled from tossing and turning in the same bed he was about to occupy. Her lips slightly parted as she tried to read him. As exhausted as he was, it wouldn't surprise him if she could see right through him.

"Oh!" Molly snapped herself out her thoughts, her cheeks going pink as she realized what she'd been doing. It hadn't bothered him, if anything he'd welcomed it, but he didn't say anything to ease her discomfort. He needed his rest and he'd be gone in the morning. There was no point. "Sorry, I didn't mean to stare."

"Right, well, goodnight Molly." He cleared his throat again and stared her down. She blushed a deeper shade of pink before moving towards the door.

"Goodnight." She mumbled, pulling the door behind her. She stopped just before it was completely closed and poked her head back into the room. "If you need anything, you know where to find me."

Sherlock nodded once but didn't reply. He waited until her steps faded into the guest room before he stripped down to his boxers and slid into her bed.

* * *

**2:45 a.m.**

If you'd asked her, Molly couldn't explain why exactly she'd left the door open that night. All she'd really known was that it needed to stay open. Maybe it was something she'd seen in his face when he'd stepped into her apartment that night, or maybe it was the way he'd looked at her while she'd stared at him for an embarrassingly long minute in her bedroom. Whatever it was, Molly knew, almost instinctively, not to ignore it.

It was likely that same instinct that startled her out of a dead sleep at nearly three in the morning. The noise had been almost imperceptible, but she'd heard it. She didn't even bother with checking the time as she slipped out of the bed in the guest bedroom and walked back to her own room, pausing just outside to knock on her door.

"Sherlock?" She called out, leaning slightly forward, head cocked towards the door to see if there was any answer. When all she heard was a strangled groan in reply, she swallowed and turned the knob.

"Are you alright?" She asked softly as she stepped inside, her eyes immediately landing on his sleeping form. He was in bed, eyes pinched closed, the sheet almost completely pushed off of his body. He clutched her pillow with white knuckled fists.

_Nightmares_, she thought grimly as she moved forward and sat at the edge of her bed. Tentatively, she reached out a hand and cupped his face. "Sherlock, wake up." She half whispered, half spoke. "It's just a bad dream."

Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he immediately sat up, shifting away from her and searching for something under the pillow.

"It's just me. Molly." She said quickly, staying where she was. "You were having a bad dream."

"Molly?" Sherlock replied raggedly. He was panting and his eyes darted all over the room before settling on her face.

"I'm here." Molly replied quietly, still not daring to move. When Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes, leaning back against the headboard, Molly felt herself relax as well. "You were having a bad dream, I thought maybe-"

"What time is it?" He cut her off and Molly checked the alarm clock on her bedside table.

"It's almost three in the morning." She told him, shifting her eyes back to his face.

"You have to work tomorrow." He stated, his breathing slowing down as he got himself under control. "The early shift."

"Yes, but don't worry about that. It's not the first time I-"

"Can you stay?" He opened his eyes and pinned her with a blue eyed stare. She swallowed.

"I'm sorry?" Her eyebrows pulled into a frown.

"Tonight." He explained, his eyes pleading with her to understand. "Can you stay here with me?"

Molly felt her mouth hang slightly open before she nodded and he shifted away from her, making room for her to lie down. Sherlock waited until she was settled under the covers before sliding back down into the bed beside her and closing his eyes. Molly looked at his profile in the dim light coming from her window. It was the last thing she saw before her eyes drooped closed and she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

**5: 55 a.m.**

Sherlock was wide awake and well aware that he was clutching Molly to his chest like a bloody lifeline. He still had five minutes before he had to get up and make the necessary preparations for his departure. With a heavy sigh, he buried his face in her hair.

_Just five more minutes._ He thought, clutching her tighter when she murmured sleepily and settled comfortably against him. _Five more minutes, and I leave._

This time, he memorized the way Molly felt in his arms. The _look _of her as she had studied him when he'd arrived would likely get him through most days when everything else seemed cold and steely and threatened to cut him open. The _feel_ of her though, would get him through the desperately lonely nights when there was nothing to turn to for comfort except maybe his now ever-present gun.

Yes. Sherlock Holmes, with all his thrills and kills, was lonely. And never was that loneliness more evident than since the time he'd had to leave the comforts of home, and if he was being honest with himself, friendship, behind.

_Four minutes left._ He inhaled sharply, filing away the faint vanilla smell of her hair, so unbelievably soft against his face. He burrowed deeper. _Who knew vanilla could be such a comforting smell?_

_Three minutes left._ His fingers brushed against the slice of skin left exposed by her rucked up t-shirt. He hadn't bothered thinking about it before. Quite frankly, he'd ignored it, deeming it useless information, but now he reconsidered. He swallowed, feeling like this one was almost too intimate to know, but once he'd filed it away he could only be rid of that information by deleting it and that was something he couldn't bring himself to do. _Didn't think it'd be this soft. Interesting._

_Two minutes left. _Sherlock was startled when Molly turned around in his arms and buried her face against his neck. _This is a new one_, he thought as he tentatively slipped his arm around her again and pulled her against him. He could feel her warm breath against his neck and he frowned as he cupped the back of her head with his hand. Sherlock swallowed. He'd look into this one another time, maybe somewhere in the near future when he welcomed the distraction and wasn't scrambling to commit it to memory.

_One minute left._ Sherlock sighed, sliding his hand down her back and readying himself to disentangle his limbs from hers. He slipped his hand up into her hair and slid the strands against his fingers.

_Time to go_. His face hardened as he pulled away from her and his body tensed as he shifted gears. It was time to get back to work.

* * *

**6: 10 a.m.**

"You don't have to be up for another twenty minutes." Sherlock said quietly when he stepped out of Molly's bathroom and found her waiting.

"I've been awake for a while." She confessed, sitting up slightly and giving him a small smile. "I wanted to see you before you left."

Sherlock looked down at the towel in his hands before discarding it next to hers. "How long exactly?"

"Long enough." Molly replied, her cheeks coloring visibly.

"I have to go." He replied, pulling on his t-shirt. He didn't meet her eyes as he slipped on his socks and trainers, or when he picked up his jacket and shrugged it on. He only paused and turned around when he was nearly out of her bedroom. It was strange, the way he suddenly felt so exposed like he'd bared his soul to her. But this was _Molly_. If there was ever anyone he could bare his soul to aside from John it was her.

"You don't have to say anything." Molly said, and he found himself smiling a faint smile. Was he that easy to read or was it just her? He walked back to the bed and sat on the edge, taking a minute before he could meet her eyes.

"Thank you, Molly Hooper." He said earnestly, his eyes conveying more than he cared to know about the depth of his gratitude. "You've given me more than I deserve."

Molly gaped at him for the second time that night, but now he was out of time. Leaning forward, he brushed his lips against her cheek before bolting from the room.


	3. Bolthole II

**NOTE: **I couldn't leave the previous one alone, so I decided to give it one more try and finish it. Please don't judge me. I just wanted to give these two this _one thing_ between them before Molly just finally decided to move on with her life. We know it didn't pan out, but still.

* * *

**Six months later**

**11: 27 p.m.**

There hadn't been any butterflies for Molly. She could at least be honest about that. He was just a nice man. Alright, a _very_ nice man who seemed to like her just as she was. Not exactly the cleverest man she'd met, but-

She stopped in front of the door to her flat and closed her eyes.

"I _will not_ compare this man to Sherlock Holmes." She muttered to herself for what felt like the hundredth time that night. It was time to move on. Get on with her life. Do whatever it was people did when they weren't hopelessly in love with an impossibly brilliant man who cared nothing for his heart.

Slipping the key into the lock, Molly pushed the door open and bit back a scream.

"It's just me." Sherlock. She'd know that silky baritone voice anywhere.

"You scared me." She said, heaving a sigh of relief and closing the door behind her. "Why are you sitting in the dark?"

"I have a headache." He replied, a slight strain to his voice. Barely noticeable. "The light was annoying."

"Do you want me to get you something for it?" She asked quietly, shrugging off her coat and moving into the kitchen.

There was no reply, but Molly searched for the bottle of aspirin she always kept nearby and poured a glass of water for him. It had been like this for months. She never knew when he'd turn up, but he always did. Sometimes three times in one week. This time it had been a month and a half. She'd been almost convinced he wouldn't be coming back at all, but here he was.

"You were on a date." Molly jumped when she heard his voice, spilling some of the water on her brand new dress.

Her lips turned down in a grimace and she turned to look at him. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, unwavering blue gaze fixed on her. Her breath hitched.

"Yes." She said finally, turning away to find something to dry herself with. "I was."

"You seem different." He said after a long pause. Molly didn't know how to respond to that.

"Different?" She asked, her brows knitting into a frown.

"Hm." Was all he replied as he began walking towards her. Molly's eyes widened but she didn't move. He stepped up close to her and leaned in, arms reaching around her back.

"W-what are you doing?" Her voice was shaky and uneven. Sherlock smirked, the barest hint of _something _in his eyes before he pulled back holding the bottle of aspiring and the glass of water.

Her heart had been racing a mile a minute before she realized what he'd been doing. No, he wouldn't kiss her. He was just getting his bloody aspirin. She closed her eyes, mentally berating herself for her complete lack of self-control.

"Goodnight, Molly." She opened her eyes and glared at him as he left her kitchen.

* * *

**2:01 a.m.**

Sherlock couldn't sleep.

He'd tossed and turned in Molly's bed for the longest time, but he couldn't get comfortable. He'd tried retreating into his mind palace, but everything appeared to be in working order. The last few months had been hectic, and God help him, even exciting, but now he'd hit a dead end.

An inevitable lull in his otherwise fast-paced adventure.

It didn't bother him, really. He was actually enjoying having a few more hours to himself. To recuperate and recharge, or as much as anyone could recuperate and recharge in similar situations.

And then there was Molly.

For the last six months her flat had been a sort of safe haven. The one bolthole Mycroft knew nothing about, and therefore, the only place he could truly hide whenever needed.

But it was more than that, wasn't it?

Sherlock did not lie to himself as a rule. Not for anything. It was one of the reasons he was so good at what he did. He recognized and accepted everything about himself, and in so doing, he overcame his weaknesses.

Yes, weaknesses. As much as it bothered him to admit it, Sherlock had his fair share, and it was becoming increasingly obvious, at least to him, that Molly was fast becoming one of them.

Not in the same way most men would consider themselves weakened by a woman, it certainly wasn't lust, or the like. It was something else. Something far more dangerous, if he was being completely honest with himself.

She was confusing him. Muddying in the waters until he was swimming blind, relying more on his sense than on his skill. Sometimes he hated her for it.

Out of the 12 - no 14 - times he'd stayed here, it was 14 times she'd slept in the same bed with him. It was the nightmares, obviously, but every single time, he'd pulled her into his arms and held on to her until he'd had to leave. Every time memorizing and re-committing her to his memory.

Not tonight, though.

Tonight, she'd been out on a date and now he couldn't sleep. No sleep meant no nightmares and consequently, no Molly.

With a frustrated curse, Sherlock threw the covers off himself and sat up, searching for his phone.

* * *

**2:45 a.m.**

_**Are you awake? I'm bored.**_

_**SH**_

_It's nearly three in the morning._

_M_

_**I am aware of the time, but I fail to see how that has anything to do with the fact that I'm bored.**_

_**SH**_

_Did you have another nightmare?_

_M_

_**Of course not, I haven't slept. Neither have you.**_

_**SH**_

_Why do you say that?_

_M_

_**Proper punctuation.**_

_**SH**_

_What about it? It's there._

_M_

_**Exactly. Except when you've just woken up, then it's missing.**_

_**SH**_

_Go to sleep Sherlock._

_M_

_**You're smiling.**_

_**SH**_

_So are you._

_M_

* * *

**4:00 a.m.**

Sherlock realized he'd fallen asleep only after he'd woken up in a cold sweat, panting like he'd been running from Death itself. He took deep breaths, keeping his eyes closed as he pushed the nightmares deep into his mind palace and locked them up behind heavy steel doors.

It was a few minutes before he was under control. Fewer still before he realized that Molly was there, kneeling on the bed beside him, combing her fingers through his hair and murmuring something about 'everything being alright'.

He suppressed the urge to scoff at her. Nothing would be alright until he was done, but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy her false comfort, if only for a brief moment.

"You're going out with him again." Sherlock stated, locking his eyes with hers'.

"What?" Molly asked, her hands pausing while still tangled in his hair.

"Your date." Sherlock explained, searching her face for the same thing he'd seen in the kitchen when he'd approached her.

"Oh." Molly replied quietly, removing her hands from his hair and sitting back on her haunches. "I-I don't know, it was only a first date. He asked, so-"

"He doesn't deserve you." Sherlock cut her off, surprised by his own statement as much as Molly. But he was right, wasn't he?

"You haven't even met him." Molly countered, a smile tugging at her lips. It was a testament to his pathetic state of being that he found that veiled smile the most endearing thing about her, second only to her mussed up hair.

"I don't need to." He said simply, finally tearing his eyes away from hers'. "Your taste in men leaves a lot to be desired."

He gave her a sidelong glance, noticing her blushing cheeks and averted eyes. There it was. Exactly what he'd been looking for. _Why_ he'd been looking for it was a mystery, even to him, but he _had_ been looking for it.

"I should go." Molly started to move off the bed, but for once, Sherlock's hand was quicker than his thoughts and he caught her by the wrist.

"Stay." His voice was quiet, but even he could recognize what was just under the surface. It was pure, unadulterated longing. For what, he didn't know, but he was full of it now, like he'd been full of it every single night he'd spent with her these last months. "Just this once."

Molly studied him, and he found himself suspended, anticipation coursing through him while he waited for her to deliberate. Would she stay, or would she leave? Sherlock knew there was an imminent change in the air, like they were standing on a precipice, teetering over the edge.

There was too much he didn't understand, but none of that mattered to him now.

Molly sighed, the color rising up in her cheeks again.

"Alright." She said finally, her eyes locking with his, bolder than he'd ever seen them before. "Just this once."

He smirked, and pulled her down to press his lips to hers.

* * *

**6:10 a.m.**

Molly woke up and immediately sat up in bed, bringing the sheet along with her. She looked at his side of the bed and then towards the bathroom. Not a sign of him anywhere.

Wrapping the sheet around her like a dress, Molly left the bed and made her way into the living room, followed by the kitchen.

He was gone.

Molly fought a wave of disappointment as she walked further into the kitchen to make her morning tea. She paused and blinked when she realized someone had already made it for her. No, not just someone. Sherlock.

She poured herself a cup and went to find her phone, hesitating once it was in her hand. What could she say? She stared at the device for a minute longer before she heard noises coming from her living room, and soon enough down the hall.

Sherlock paused at the entrance to her bedroom, his eyes taking her in, wrapped in her sheet and phone in hand.

"You honestly thought I'd just leave after last night?" He was frowning. He'd obviously hit the nail on the head, but he didn't seem all too pleased by his deduction.

"I-I don't know." Molly stammered, setting down her phone. "We did say it would be just that one time, and I'm not exactly sure what the protocol is in these situations, you know, I've never been the kind to-"

"Molly." Sherlock said slowly, raising his eyebrows as if he were talking to someone about to lose their mind. "Breathe."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening them back up. He'd come closer to her and she had to tilt her head back to look at him.

"You know me." He said finally, his voice calm and steady. "You know what I am. You know how I work." Molly nodded, biting her lip to keep some semblance of control.

"I know." Molly agreed, and Sherlock half smiled at her, brushing a stray hair away from her face. "I need to move on."

"And so you will." He replied seriously. "If there is one thing I've come to learn from my time with you, it's that you deserve to be happy, Molly Hooper."

Molly searched his face, wishing, not for the first time, that she knew what he was thinking. Without another word, she closed the gap between them and wrapped her arms around him. Sighing with relief when he returned the gesture, gently cupping her head against his chest.

It wasn't over, but it was enough to hold on to. For now.


	4. Just Getting Started

"You asked her out." John lowered his newspaper and stared disbelievingly at his friend. "_You_ asked _her_ out." He scoffed. "Sherlock, she's engaged!"

"It was just fish and chips, so I'm not entirely sure that qualifies as a date, but yes I asked her out." Sherlock was annoyed and uncomfortable that he was having this conversation. With John, of all people. He'd never hear the end of it. "And I'm aware that she's engaged, hence the problem."

John laughed, folding his newspaper closed and tossing it aside. "Sorry mate, I think you've missed your chance."

"Don't be stupid, of course I haven't." Sherlock replied with exasperation, waving his hand dismissively. "Have you seen him? He's practically a carbon copy. A low quality carbon copy, even she must know that."

John gave him a look. "If you want my help, you'll stop calling me stupid."

"Fine." Sherlock snapped, sullenly crossing his arms over his chest.

"When did you ask her out?" John asked after a pause, barely containing the smug look on his face. Sherlock glared at him, but wisely refrained from telling him off. He'd make him pay. Eventually.

"After she helped me with my cases, when you so rudely declined my request." He mocked. "You remember, don't you? I seem to recall you telling me to f—"

"Right." John stopped him, frowning thoughtfully while he stared at the fireplace. "But that was a while ago. Why are you asking for my help _now_?"

Sherlock sighed dramatically, leaning forward in his chair and bringing his hands together in front of his mouth. "Because, I seem to have made a mess of things and I don't know how to fix it. That is your area of expertise, is it not?"

John grinned at him, crossing his own arms over his chest. He was enjoying this too much, but there was nothing Sherlock could do about that. Yet. He'd have to think of something. In the meantime, he needed to set things right with Molly. He'd been an idiot thinking he could work with the young pathologist while he was attracted to her. Even more so because he'd just assumed she'd always be there, waiting for him to make up his mind. It was only a matter of time before it caught up with him.

"Alright, I'll help you." John said with a sharp nod after a few minutes. "Just one question, though."

"Just one?" Sherlock sighed tiredly, leaning back in his chair and resting his hands on the armrests. "Go on then."

"When did it start?"

Right. Of course. He'd want to know that. Sherlock stretched out his legs in front of him and retreated into his Mind Palace. He'd stored the memory long ago, but it was still there. He retrieved it now and placed it front and center.

* * *

"How fresh?" He asked, zipping open the body bag and looking over the corpse.

She was nervous, looking at him with a mix of expectation and dread. It was both endearing and annoying, especially when he was hell-bent on ignoring her advances and focusing on his work.

"Just in. Sixty-seven, natural causes. He used to work here. I knew him. He was nice." She was babbling. Sherlock narrowed his eyes on her, taking in the details and making deductions. She would ask him out today. Coffee, most likely.

"Fine." He straightened, a grin spreading across his face. "We'll start with the riding crop."

Sherlock pulled it out and set it down on the table while he shrugged out of his coat. Her eyes widened when she saw the crop in his hand and for a second Sherlock paused, considering the new development. Was that surprise on her face, or something else? What was that _look_?

"Perhaps you should wait in the observation room while I work." Sherlock suggested, throwing his coat on a chair just behind him but keeping his eyes fixed on her. She jumped, her eyes immediately darting to his face before she nodded and scurried out of the room. Not just surprise then. Interesting.

The fact that he didn't date was by choice, he reminded himself as he removed his suit coat and rolled up his sleeves. He was a brain. His body mere transport, and food just necessary fuel. Although he could acknowledge that there were _some_ benefits to emotional entanglements, they'd never outweighed the importance of remaining alone in terms of his work.

Molly was different, and not for the conventional reasons.

She was pretty, of course, but not the prettiest woman he'd ever encountered, though he didn't put much stock into the appeal of physical female qualities. She was also clever and competent, even more so than her colleagues here at St. Bart's.

It wasn't just that, though, was it? There was also the fact that she was as passionate about her job as he was about his, and that was certainly saying something. The choice in career was also a surprise, and one that had furnished them with interesting conversation when they'd been forced to work late into the night. Or rather, he would work late into the night and ask her to stay, which she always did.

No, Molly wasn't just different. She was interesting.

"Molly Hooper." He muttered, lifting up the riding crop, ready to begin his work. "What do I make of you?"

He got to work. Hitting the corpse repeatedly until he was sure he'd done as much as he could to gather the necessary data. He was aware that she was watching him, but he refrained from looking over his shoulder merely to satisfy his curiosity. Because he _was_ curious. Would she be looking at him with the same look he'd seen when he'd taken out the riding crop? Had it changed?

He stopped hitting the corpse and stepped away, taking a deep breath.

"So, bad day, was it?" He'd seen her come in but he ignored her, trying to focus on anything other than the newly minted enigma standing in front of him. Setting the riding crop down, he pulled out his notebook and started making notes.

"I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes. A man's alibi depends on it. Text me." It came out in one breath and sharper than he'd intended, but he was having a hard time focusing on the case at hand.

It was the look. He couldn't get it out of his head.

"Listen, I was wondering: maybe later, when you're finished—"

Sherlock looked up at her, annoyed that she was being so persistent when he was trying so hard to push her towards the back of his mind. He narrowed his eyes at her. Was she really—

"Are you wearing lipstick? You weren't wearing lipstick before." He kept his eyes trained on her, taking a perverse pleasure in knowing that he was making her uncomfortable. Good. If he had to suffer at the mere sight of her then she could join him.

"I, er, I refreshed it a bit." She smiled at him. No, not just that. She was _flirting_ with him, wasn't she? He wasn't surprised. Her admiration had been patent from the outset, but she'd never pursued him before. Until now. Was that because of the riding crop or something else? He'd have to look into it.

No!

No. He didn't have to look into it at all. In fact, he'd stay as far away from looking into it as possible. He broke himself out of his thoughts and resumed taking notes.

"Sorry, you were saying?" He asked, feigning indifference.

"I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee." He snapped his notebook shut and looked at her. Really looked at her. Why _her_? Why _now_? What was _wrong _with him? He needed to get out before he did something really idiotic.

Like saying 'yes' to her offer.

"Black, two sugars, please. I'll be upstairs."

* * *

"So why didn't you just get on with it then?" John asked with a shrug. It sounded simple enough while he was telling the story, but it had been monumental back then.

"I told you. Girlfriends are not really my area." Sherlock replied with a frown.

"Yeah, but you fancied her." John countered, shifting in his chair and smiling him. He was still amused that Sherlock was capable of liking someone that way, especially when that someone was Molly Hooper. "And anyone with eyes could see that she fancied you too. She was smitten."

"Still is." Sherlock bit back. "But back then my mind was set. I was sure it would pass. She was an anomaly, that was all."

"Something changed, though, right?" John prodded, leaning forward in his chair.

"You're enjoying this far too much." Sherlock replied, narrowing his eyes at him before continuing with his story. "Yes, something changed. It was 'The Woman'."

"Irene Adler?" John's eyebrows shot up into his hairline and Sherlock smirked, happy to have caught him off guard.

"Yes." Sherlock replied, searching his Mind Palace once again until he found the next memory.

* * *

It was raining in Karachi.

Sherlock stared out the window; glad he didn't have to venture out into the streets for the time being. The Woman was still asleep in the bed just behind him, but Sherlock hadn't bothered with sleep at all. He needed to go back. Tomorrow at the latest.

Most men in his position would jump at the chance to spend a few nights with the infamous Irene Adler, stuck in a tiny room with nothing else to do.

Not him.

He frowned, turning to study her sleeping form, curled up beneath the covers.

It was odd.

Irene was an appealing woman. A challenge. A conquest, even. She'd been a puzzle from the beginning and it had been a thrill to work her out. He had taken her apart, laid bare all her inner workings and then put her back together.

It had been exhilarating, but temporary. Once he'd figured her out, solved the mystery as he was prone to do, there was nothing left. She was all artifice and calculation. Her methods were unorthodox, but obvious. Her beauty superficial; more a pretty shell than substantial armor. It was all calculated. Predictable. _Boring_.

And yet here he was.

He'd gone beyond the normal call of duty to save her, but he hadn't been able to let her go, and he knew exactly why.

With all her fathomless allure, Irene Adler had failed to take him in. He'd lost his interest in her almost the exact minute he'd typed in the password to her mobile phone. In that sense, she'd been a sort of catalyst to a sudden realization.

There would be no one else for him.

There _could_ _be_ no one else for him.

Of course, Irene Adler would always be 'The Woman' to him. The woman who'd thrilled him. The woman who'd challenged him. The woman who'd loved him, and puzzled him for a brief flashing moment, bright and quick to burn.

Sherlock sighed, the noise making her stir in her sleep. He held his breath, hoping she wouldn't wake up.

With all the things she would always be to him, she would never be what he now realized he really wanted. What he really _needed_.

No, what he needed was not brief, but permanent. It didn't burn, but smolder. It was constant, and deep, and rare.

Not just a woman. An anomaly.

And God help him, she had a name.

* * *

"Molly Hooper." John paused, and Sherlock could tell he was processing the new information. He hadn't told anyone about Irene being alive, not even John, though now it hardly seemed to matter. "Irene Adler made you realize that you wanted to be with Molly."

"As usual, John, you're oversimplifying something that is exceedingly nuanced and complex." Sherlock retorted, pulling on his shirt cuffs.

"You're full of it and you know it." John shook his head and pointed a finger at him. "You thought that if Irene Adler couldn't take your mind off Molly, then probably no one ever could. You realized you wanted Molly, and you still do."

Sherlock sighed, turning his head to look at his 'clue wall'. He needed to get back to work soon, but he needed to be sorted first. Concentration was hard to come by while he was so scattered.

"It's complex," Sherlock insisted, "because I don't break my own rules. I've told you before, sentiment is human error. It's a flaw, a mistake, and one I would never allow myself to make." He paused. "Willingly, that is."

John just stared him down and Sherlock continued, trying to get his point across. "If I were ever to break my own rule, Irene Adler would've been the logical choice."

"But you didn't want her." John concluded, and Sherlock nodded slowly.

"No." Sherlock said quietly. "Not her."

* * *

_**One Month Later**_

Molly snapped off her latex gloves and threw them into the rubbish bin with a huff. She was done for the day, having worked non-stop for the remainder of her shift in order to keep her mind occupied with anything other than the events of that morning.

He'd said it was for a case, and more than likely it really was, but it was dangerous and reckless. Molly couldn't condone it, and both John and Mycroft seemed to agree.

Turning off the lights in the lab, Molly made her way back into her office to gather her things. She could stay, maybe transcribe her notes until she was seeing double and was ready for bed, but she wouldn't. She needed to be angry with him right now, and this might just do the trick.

Molly was sliding her arms into her coat when she heard the text alert, and she pulled it out immediately, glancing at the screen.

_**Coffee?**_

_**SH**_

"Ha!" Molly scoffed, putting her mobile back into her coat pocket and swinging her bag onto her shoulder. Maybe three slaps hadn't been enough. Next time she'd slip in a fourth for good measure.

_**Answer your texts. I know you're reading them.**_

_**SH**_

Molly glared at the screen and typed in a reply.

_I'm busy._

_M_

_**You just finished your shift and you're heading home. You're not busy.**_

_**SH**_

_Maybe I have a date._

_M_

_**You don't. **_

_**SH**_

"Now how could you possibly know that?" Molly muttered, shoving open her office door and colliding into the man himself. She yelped. "Sorry!"

"Molly." He spoke her name and Molly immediately righted herself, taking a step back.

"Yes?" She put her phone away and tilted her head up to meet his eyes.

"We need to talk." He replied seriously, a hint of something in his voice, but Molly couldn't quite decipher what it was.

"I'm awfully tired, Sherlock." Molly sighed, feeling the fight go out of her. She really felt exhausted, and she realized that the anger she'd experienced that morning had probably been the only thing fueling her throughout the day. "Can it wait?"

"I'm afraid not." Sherlock replied, looking around him once before turning her around and pushing her back into her office. He closed the door behind him.

"Alright." Molly set her bag down and crossed her arms over her chest. "What's going on?"

"Why did you break it off with Tom?" Sherlock's eyes bored into hers and Molly was momentarily stunned into silence. Of all the things she'd been expecting him to say, this certainly wasn't one of them.

"Why do think it was me that broke it off with him?" She asked after a long pause. Sherlock set his mouth into a grim line and gave her a look.

"Honestly, Molly." He replied. "I'd think you'd know me better than that by now."

"Then why do you care?" Molly changed her question and frowned.

Sherlock didn't say anything, just stared at her, searching her face. He had to know the reason already. Sherlock was Sherlock. He noticed everything.

"Do you just want me to say it out loud?" She was starting to get angry again. He had a girlfriend now too, didn't he? He'd mentioned as much before when she'd come to visit him while he was working. She'd been nice, though not as impressed with the dead bodies as one might've hoped.

"You're thinking about Janine." Sherlock took a step towards her, and Molly retreated in equal measure. He narrowed his eyes, darting them over her face before they widened. "Oh! Is this jealousy? I assure you, there is nothing to worry about."

"She's your girlfriend." Molly countered; unnerved by the way he was looking at her. What was the matter with him?

"Yes." Sherlock nodded, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Soon to be fiancé, if all goes as planned."

Molly felt those words like a slap in the face. She clenched her jaw and looked away. "I need to go."

She shoved past him, silently praying that she could make it outside and out of his range before she started crying. This was beyond cruel, even for him.

Sherlock was quicker than her, though, and he moved to block the door from her before she had a chance to even place her hand on the doorknob. She really was going to cry and he was going to see her. It was humiliating.

"I don't understand." Sherlock said quietly. "I said it was nothing to worry about. Why are you crying?"

"I'm not!" Molly snapped, wiping a rogue tear from her cheek. "Can't you just leave me alone this once?"

"No!" Sherlock snapped at her. His eyes flashed and he closed them, taking a deep breath before continuing. "No, but I would if I could."

"What are you saying?" Molly replied doubtfully. She couldn't piece together what he wanted. He wanted to know why she'd broken off her engagement. It was because of him, obviously, but why did it matter? He was about to be engaged himself.

"Tell me." His voice was low, with an edge of threat to it; though what he was threatening Molly couldn't be sure.

"T-tell you what?" Molly asked, too nervous to recall what the question was now. Sherlock walked up to her, but this time Molly didn't move. He stared down at her, his face completely open now, like he _wanted _her to see straight through him. Oh. Now she remembered. "It was you. It's always been you."

Molly waited a beat, and Sherlock smiled, leaning down to gently press his lips to hers. Her reaction was instantaneous and passionate. Molly took hold of Sherlock's coat collar and pulled herself up, deepening the kiss as he slipped his arms around her waist and held her to him.

He took his time, working one hand into her hair while bringing her closer with the other. He was relentless, and it was only when Molly thought she'd pass out from the intensity that he pulled away to catch his breath.

"I have to go." He voice was husky and his breathing ragged, but he didn't let her go. "The engagement. John's waiting."

"Hm?" Molly opened her eyes, feeling dazed and too hot under the collar until she realized what he was saying. "Wait, what? No!"

She squirmed and he let her go. "Oh my God! I can't believe I just kissed you! You have a girlfriend!" She widened her eyes. "You're getting engaged!"

"It's for a case." Sherlock replied, reaching forward and cupping her face in his hands. "Do calm down, Molly. Hysterics don't do you any favors."

"You're an ass." Molly narrowed her eyes at him, but forced herself to calm down. "It's just for a case?"

"Yes." Sherlock smirked. He gave her a lingering kiss on the lips before pulling away. "And I have to go."

"We're not done here." She said sullenly, picking up her bag and following him out.

He stopped, his hand on the doorknob while he waited for her to gather her things and look at him.

"Oh, I should hope not." He smiled, trouble spelled out across his features. "We're just getting started."

He winked at her once before opening the door and disappearing from her office, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the hall.


	5. The Written Word

"I can't believe this is what you're reading." Sherlock was sitting at her kitchen counter, frowning at the leather-bound book in his hands. Molly sighed, stirring the contents of the pot in front of her.

"Why did I ask you over, again?" She asked, a hint of annoyance in her tone.

"Because you just broke up with Tom and you're lonely." Molly looked at him. "Oh, and John asked you to keep an eye on me, though I can't imagine why. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"Right, well, I'll have you know that Byron is a classic." Molly continued, ignoring his speech and concentrating on the food. "Have you ever read him?"

"If I did, I deleted it." He said simply, cracking open the book and leafing through the pages.

"I like it." She shrugged and shifted her weight from one leg to the other.

"Did Tom like it?" Sherlock asked, drawing Molly's eyes back to him. He was looking at her like he was actually interested in her answer and Molly found herself carefully considering his question.

"Sometimes." She replied finally. "It was really more my thing, than his."

Sherlock didn't reply, instead shifting his eyes back to the book and turning a few more pages before he stopped. Molly watched, slightly curious as he placed the book down on the counter and cleared his throat.

"She walks in beauty, like the night," he began slowly, taking his time with every word. Molly paused her stirring and just stared at him, an unexpected flutter rising in the pit of her stomach. "Of cloudless climes and starry skies," he paused, frowning slightly at the page, "And all that's best of dark and bright meet in her aspect and her eyes."

He glanced up at her, his frown deepening as he studied her, before returning his eyes to the page. "Thus mellowed to that tender light which heaven to gaudy day denies."

"K-keep going." Molly managed to choke out, clearing her throat and turning towards the stove so she wasn't staring at him like an idiot. He didn't go on right away, and Molly could feel his eyes on her, but she studiously ignored him.

"One shade the more, one ray the less, had half impaired the nameless grace," he took the book in his hands and leaned back in his chair, she chanced a peek at him and he was looking at her as if she were suddenly the most interesting thing on the planet, "which waves in every raven tress, or softly lightens o'er her face," he paused again, slightly narrowing his eyes, "where thoughts serenely sweet express, how pure, how dear their dwelling-place."

Molly took a deep breath. She felt flushed, and she briefly fanned herself with her free hand, giving Sherlock a sidelong glance before stopping and placing it on her hip. What was wrong with her?

"And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, so soft, so calm, yet eloquent, the smiles that win, the tints that glow, but tell of days in goodness spent, a mind at peace with all below," he stopped again for so long that Molly forced herself to look at him. Why was he looking at her like that? "A heart whose love is innocent."

Sherlock stared at her for a long time, and Molly stared at him in turn. He looked confused, annoyed, and something else she couldn't place, but her heart was beating a mile a minute. What was it about him reading that was so attractive?

Finally he snapped the book closed and set it down, glancing at the stove before looking back at her. "Food is burning."

Molly jumped, quickly moving the pot off the stove. Behind her, she could hear Sherlock's chuckle as he slid out of his chair and searched for take-out menus.

* * *

"What was it you wanted to talk to me about?" Molly walked into Sherlock's living room and threw herself down on the couch. "It's late, and I'm hungry and exhausted."

"Cook something." Sherlock said simply, standing up from his chair and clasping his hands behind his back. Molly glared at him before tilting her head back and closing her eyes.

"You're having a laugh, aren't you?" She sighed, too tired to come up with any sort of witty comeback. Too tired to even think, really, but she had to because she was here under Sherlock's all too annoying insistence. "Just tell me what you want so I can go home."

"I want to try something." Sherlock announced, with such formality that Molly opened her eyes and stared at him.

"Do I need to be cooking?" She asked tiredly. Sherlock hesitated, his hands still behind his back as he looked around the room. Molly frowned. "Do I?"

"No, I suppose not." He moved forward, walking over the table in front of the couch and sitting on it so that he was facing her. Molly straightened, unused to having him so close to her while they were alone. "You just need to listen."

"Okay." She said doubtfully, and she watched while Sherlock brought a book around from behind his back and clasped it in both hands. Molly blushed, remembering the last time he'd read to her and the embarrassingly unexpected feelings it had caused in her. "Keats?"

"Mm." Sherlock replied, his eyes intent on her face while she struggled to understand what he was doing. "I noticed the book on your shelf the other night. You had a rather curious reaction to Byron, I was just wondering if it would be the same with Keats." He paused. "Shall I read to you?"

"Y-yes. P-please." Molly sat back, her eyes wide and disbelieving as Sherlock cracked open the book and thumbed through the pages. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and holding the book out in front of him.

"My heart aches," he began, and Molly could already feel her blush deepening, "and a drowsy numbness pains my sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk."

She stared at him, her eyes glued to his mouth as he recited the words.

"Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains one minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk," he looked at her, his eyes curiously scanning her face before he continued, "Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, but being too happy in thine happiness,— that thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees—"

It wasn't fair. There was no way this man, or any man, could have this effect on her just by reading. Well, it wasn't _just_ the reading, was it? It was his voice too. It was low, and silky, and—oh, she had to get a hold of herself.

"In some melodious plot of beechen green, and shadows numberless," Molly opened her mouth to ask him to stop, but he continued, completely unaware, "singest of summer in full-throated ease."

Molly didn't think. She moved forward, catching his face with her hands and pressing her lips to his' before he had a chance to know what was happening. He tensed, and for a split second Molly could almost feel the entire weight of her mistake. She pulled away, blushing a deep scarlet as she gathered her things to leave, and never, ever, _ever_, come back. Maybe she'd move out of London. Maybe—

"Molly?" Molly shook her head, refusing to look at him as she walked out the door and down the stairs. "Molly!"

* * *

Molly was ignoring him. Honestly, she couldn't even face herself in the mirror since the incident, let alone face _him_. She didn't know what had come over her, but hearing him say those words like that, and to _her_, even if his intentions had been purely scientific in nature, had been enough to make her lose her mind.

That was it, wasn't it? She'd lost her mind.

John was finally back from his honeymoon, but he was still alarmingly absent for most of Sherlock's cases. Molly had taken to hiding in her office and staying there whenever Sherlock came in to work. The fact that he hadn't insisted spoke volumes about his feelings concerning the event.

He hated to work with other people since he'd started working with her. They had an easy chemistry, and it made the work easier as well. Now, he wasn't even _trying_ to look for her, and she really couldn't blame him. She'd essentially attacked him, hadn't she?

Molly groaned and dropped her head into her hands. She was bored doing paperwork, but somewhere beyond her door, Sherlock was working, and she couldn't bring herself to step out into the hallway. She closed her eyes, letting the whole event play out in her head again before she was suddenly ripped from her thoughts when her office door opened.

"I'm busy." She grumbled, eyes still closed. People could wait for a day while she got her bearings.

"Whoever you are, holding me now in hand," Sherlock spoke and Molly looked up, visibly shaken by his sudden appearance, "without one thing, all will be useless."

"W-what are you doing?" Molly stuttered. Sherlock's mouth lifted up at the corner, his eyes flashing mischievously as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

"I give you fair warning, before you attempt me further," he stepped toward her desk and she jumped out of her chair, "I am not what you supposed, but far different."

"That's Whitman." Molly said uselessly, moving away from him as he stalked her around her office.

"Indeed." Sherlock smiled, narrowing his eyes and taking another step forward. "Who is he that would become my follower? Who would sign himself a candidate for my affections?"

"Sherlock—" Molly felt the wall behind her and yelped, causing him to pause in his steps and broaden his smile.

"The way is suspicious—the result uncertain, perhaps destructive; you would have to give up all else—" He closed the gap between them, putting a finger beneath her chin and tilting her face up to meet his eyes.

"You have to stop." Molly said weakly, confused by his sudden interest in her reactions.

"Shall I skip ahead then?" He said seriously, gently cupping her face in his hands and locking his eyes with hers'. "The whole past theory of your life, and all conformity to the lives around you, would have to be abandon'd—"

"Wha—"

"Therefore," he paused, his look becoming more intense, "release me now, before troubling yourself any further—let go your hand from my shoulders, put me down, and depart on your way."

"Are you trying to warn me off?" Molly asked, knowing full well the progression of that poem, beyond the words he'd spoken.

"God, no." He leaned forward, his lips meeting hers', soft and hot, and making her tingle all over, before pulling away with a triumphant smile on his face. "I'm trying to draw you in."


	6. (Announcement)

**Hello readers! **

**This is not an update (although I'm not finished with the one-shots, just to be clear).**

**This is just to let you know that the incredibly talented GraceW and I have been working on a BBC Sherlock story and I've just posted it on my profile. It features Sherlock and Molly and John makes an appearance as well.**

**Grace probably said it best, it's "an adventure of angst, fun and feels". It'll likely have a sequel (a few, hopefully) so go check it out and let me know what you think. :)**

**It's called _Knight in a Belstaff_.**

**Enjoy and thanks for reading!**


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